It's Hard to Imagine

I pity Paterno.

No, not because they booted him.

Rather, I feel sorry that he didn't immediately walk off the field, his head down in shame, rather than announcing he'd stick around until the end of the season. Like what he did, or didn't do, twenty years ago was not really such a big deal. That maybe everything wouldn't look so bad if he could ring in another winning season.

And I feel sorry that, twenty years ago, he believed the reputation of his institution was worth more than the emotional well-being of a child. That he may still not comprehend the enormity of the thing he helped kick under the rug.

I wonder if he's ever had a sleepless night over it. I wonder if he's ever allowed himself to imagine the terror that ten-year-old boy felt in the Penn State locker room while he was alledgedly being assaulted by Joe's good friend. The hopelessness and despair and confusion that inevitably followed.

Or the fact that, by remaining silent, he may have allowed other tragedies to occur.

I wonder how Joe feels in the wake of the shameless behavior of the student rioters. They certainly do not exemplify the honor he tried to instill in his players.

Frankly, neither does he.

Football's emperor is without clothes.

And that's a shame, too.